


To Cut A Tall Tale Short

by hedjeroo



Category: MediEvil (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27657592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedjeroo/pseuds/hedjeroo
Summary: Sir Dan finds a history book in the Sleeping Village's library. He returns to the Hall of Heroes with the book in tow, to discover how far the fabrications of his glory really went.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	To Cut A Tall Tale Short

**Author's Note:**

> This mostly came about due to an experience I had playing through the 2019 remake, finding the history books in the Village, and genuinely getting VERY upset at Dan's death being mis-attributed to Tim. 
> 
> Many thanks to my beta reader Lancre_witch who also inspired me to write for MediEvil in the first place with their fic Lost Souls!

The familiar clank and scrape of well worn metal disturbed the serenity of the Hall once more, though not at quite such a frantic pace as it usually made itself known. There was normally a frenzied scramble against the stone floor at least as far as the gargoyles if not further. This was indicative that the Hall was to once again host a panicked would-be hero fresh from some manner of horror overcome by the metaphorical skin of his teeth.

No, this time Sir Daniel Fortesque, the deceased Knight-Captain of Gallowmere, greeted the Hall of Heroes near silently, oddly withdrawn and contemplative, and clutching a sizeable tome to his breastplate.

He shuffled to take a seat, nudged one of the chalices set upon the long table aside, and set the heavy book down, wincing his empty socket at the gentle clatter of the rest of the chalices almost toppling at the weight. A sigh rattled his vertebrae and rib cage gently, and he took hold of the cover, using his other hand to flip through pages to find the one he’d dog-eared.

He’d noticed something peculiar about one of the chapters in particular when glancing over the book in the village library, but, seeing as he was beset by villagers intent on crushing his bones at the time, he’d made a shockingly wise decision to leave the reading til later, and make off with the book so he could read it somewhere safer. Normally, this would be a crime without a library card, and would have to be arranged properly using the library’s lending system, but the librarian wasn’t in the mood to be asked questions at the time and didn’t seem interested in receiving patrons. In fact, he was rather more interested in the prospect of caving Dan’s skull in.

Ah well, better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, he thought. At least in this case. His eye took to scanning the page more carefully. If he had a lower jaw still, he’d be grinding his teeth, but the deep-sunken frown that he felt ought to have been palpable in the air with the force of it, were he in conscious company.

‘ _. . . Fortesque led the charge deep into the massed ranks of the undead, felling Zarok’s bodyguard, the fearful Lord Kardok, and, before finally succumbing to his own mortal wounds, slew the traitorous sorcerer with a mighty sweep of his sword.’_

Dan took another look at the cover, and the spine, and the first page or so, and found himself growing more and more annoyed that there was no author’s name to be found. Not that he expected they’d still be alive, given the current date, and the current state of Gallowmere as well. It was one thing coming from the legendary Heroes, chiding him for having yet to live up to this standard, but reading it peddled as fact to the good people of Gallowmere set in him a sickening mingle of emotions, and the resulting cocktail made him very glad he no longer had a stomach.

It just seemed unfair. Unfair that history had been rewritten, not just to glorify him with lies, but…

‘ _Gallowmere lost a whole generation of young men that day, including Canny Tim, the legendary crossbowman and Fortesque’s second in command, who fell in the first volley of arrows.’_

… poor Tim had been dragged under the carriage in his place. He hadn’t the stomach to be content with a lie that glorified him like this, but it was made all the worse that it was at another’s expense.

Maybe he’d been a little short with Tim when he’d first come to the Hall. He’d been short-tempered with everyone since being raised, but his second in command, his friend, had been just as amicable toward him as in life, no matter how ghastly it must have seemed to see him in his current state. For Tim to have gotten the short end of the historical stick was more than unfair; Dan knew that his own fall had come in the first volley of arrows, that his eye had been claimed by it, and he was fairly confident in Tim’s claim to killing Kardok himself.

Dan’s elbows propped up on the table either side of the open book, and his face fell forward into his palms. No, no, the more he thought about it, the more he realised: this was entirely fair. This was payback, wasn’t it? This was payback for all his tall tales and boastfulness in life. He’d told so many lies about his exploits, hidden behind so many more, that it was only fitting that his legacy would be a crock of shite.

With his eye covered and his thoughts weighing down his skull, Dan didn’t notice the soft light from the statue behind him, or the figure that crept up. He did notice the thin-fingered hand on his shoulder, though, and he nearly shot out of his armour with a clang and a muffled shout.

Fortunately, he didn’t need to turn his entire person around – just his skull – to see who it was.

“Sorry Sir. Just noticed you looked a bit… _in your cups?_ ”

Speak of the devil. Tim had awoken from the respite the Hall offered, in a feat that Dan had yet to see any of the Heroes manage. He looked almost as he was in life, barring a faint aura that marked his presence as unnatural. But he was tangible; at least, tangible enough that he’d given the skeletal knight a good fright.

The joke was terrible. Dan’s bony brows creased in displeasure.

“Was not,” he grumbled, “there’s not a drop in them.”

“Just a jest, Sir, that’s all. Couldn’t resist.” Tim offered an apologetic smile. “Mind if I join you?”

It was about then that Dan remembered what he’d been reading, and that the book was still open on that specific page, and that Tim was certain to read it. One of his elbows knocked into the front cover, nudging it up and off the table, and gravity did the rest, shutting the book. His other elbow parked rather solidly on top of it. Definitely not suspicious.

He smiled, about as much as a skeleton can smile, and replied “go on then.”

Tim’s smile faltered just slightly, but he sat beside Dan anyway, gently pushing the chalice in front of him aside so he can rest his arms on the table. If the skeletal captain had meant to cast suspicion on himself in that act, he’d done a very good job of it. And they didn’t call him Canny for nothing.

“Forgive my prodding, Sir,” Tim began, following an awkward pause between them, “but you seem a bit distraught about something.”

“I do? No, no, just–” Curses. He needed to come up with an excuse. “–a bit tired, is all.”

Dan felt a pang of guilt shoot through his ribs. Another lie. And the look on the young crossbowman’s face told him that it was a poor one, too. He couldn’t help but sag a bit at the further turn of disappointment in Tim’s expression.

“Fair enough. Heroism is tiring work, after all.”

It stung that bit more that Tim so readily accepted the lie. Or, so it seemed, anyway. At least until he spoke once more.

“… If something was bothering you, by any chance, you know you can talk to me about it, Sir.”

The weight of the elbow atop the book faltered, slowly, as Dan’s arm came free of it, settling at its side again. His resolve had been chipped away enough by his own thoughts, but what was left of it came loose as he turned his gaze to his friend again, and saw the worry that had come upon it.

Just a thread of humour found Dan, as he tried to think of how to break the silence.

“You keep worrying like that and you’ll get old very fast.”

Tim snorted a laugh, just a small one.

He caught the joke, at least, and that made it easier for Dan to continue. Cracking the tome open slightly and making the old familiar motion of licking his index finger, despite having no tongue, he flicked through to find the dog-eared page, and spread open the book fully again again, sighing as the pages settled. It was almost as though the book sighed with him. He imagined it might be exasperated with his constant opening and closing of it, straining its spine with the repetitive motions. About time someone told _him_ to get on with it.

His companion leaned over curiously. “What's this?”

“It’s,” Dan made the motion and sound of clearing his throat, “’ _The History Of Gallowmere’_. So it claims.”

A bony digit drew lines, as Dan squinted his good socket and once again familiarised himself with the passages that had most offended him. He could feel Tim’s eyes following, hear him muttering the words under his breath, and he could tell from how his reading slowed how his heart sank, though once he was sure Dan was paying attention, any signs of upset were tucked away in obvious haste.

“You can probably tell it’s a load of rubbish,” Dan mumbled bitterly. The knight wasn’t going to sugar-coat it at this point, there was no need to bother. “It’d be one thing if they sang my praises, but they got us the wrong way round.”

Normally, Tim was quite quick and adept at most things, but sometimes his mouth and mind moved far too fast for him to catch smaller details. The instance they’d first spoken in the Hall, where Dan had shown irritation upon the mention of someone being shot in the eye, he hadn’t _quite_ cottoned on to the exact reason for that irritation, even if it was staring him in the face at the time. It was staring him rather more plainly in the face now, and he wasn’t moving too fast to catch it.

Not to say that he wasn’t also upset with having his accomplishment and contribution to the war re-attributed. It stung to know that history had effectively written him out. But as far as he was concerned, he had his place in the Hall, and no written work could change that. Dan did not, and his existence remained beyond the Hall: what was said outside of it mattered to him still. _He_ mattered to him still, in a way far more tangible than a legend or story.

Dan continued, and it was clear that he was only getting more and more frustrated. The crossbowman might have flinched at the raising of his voice, were the direction of that ire not very obviously pointed toward the book and its contents.

“And what’s more, they credited the slaying of Kardok to me as well. It’s not fair. You actually took that victory, all I did was run in like a bloody idiot and die!”

The skeleton’s arms were thrown up in the air almost violently enough to become detached. Tim almost wished they had, if only because the clattering of bone on impact would have broken the ensuing silence enough that it didn’t grow too heavy. Neither of them were so lucky, though, and Dan’s arms were lowered with not a sound. He stared distantly down at the space the book set itself.

Every ear in the Hall probably caught that outburst, though as to whether Dan’s moment of self-awareness actually caught anyone else’s attention was anyone’s guess.

At the very least, it caught Tim’s.

Gingerly, he set a hand upon Dan’s back, not letting the weight of his palm fall completely until he was sure he wouldn’t startle the poor man.

“… I don’t think that’s true, Sir.”

His voice was so quiet, so careful about entering the air, as though settling on the silence for fear of breaking it messily. Dan’s attention was roused just enough for him to offer a pitiful glance to his friend, rewarded with a gentle and understanding smile, that he thought was far too good for him.

“You inspired us all.”

That softness near enough broke him. That even now, seeing plain the heights of his deception, the failure of a knight couldn’t handle someone else’s faith being placed in him. His gaze broke away again, and his shoulders sagged with the weight of the truth spilling forth.

“It was all a lie, Tim. Everything I ever said was a lie. I didn’t slay any dragons, I didn’t rescue any other kingdoms or damsels or nothing. I didn’t do a bloody day’s worth of fighting before the Battle of Gallowmere and I didn’t even survive long enough to do any fighting then. And now I find out that it went so far that other people started telling lies for me, and made my embarrassment yours.”

A heaved sigh rocked his loose shoulders, rattled his ribs gently, and his skull nestled itself down into a single propped up palm, forehead-first, tired from the weight of it all.

“So please, stop calling me Sir. Only thing I ought to be called is a bloody pillock. I don’t deserve a knighthood, I don’t deserve all this praise and recognition. I didn’t then and I certainly don’t now.”

It would also have been a lie were Tim to say it was alright to hear that. On some level, he knew, he knew that Sir Dan’s tales had always been a bit tall for truth, and that he was perhaps not the measure of man he’d been touted as. But he wanted to believe in him anyway.

“Maybe not yet. But you still inspired us – you rallied us together, gave us someone to believe in – and because of that, we won the day. And you’re trying now. Every chalice you fill is proof of that, more than the words of any history book. Don’t sell yourself so short, Dan.”

Dan’s gaze flicked up again, quicker this time. This was perhaps the first time Tim had ever used his name in lieu of his title. It was a bit weird, truth be told, but what confused him more was the idea that he still believed in him, even with that revelation.

“I don’t care what some silly history book says about me. It’s not like they consulted any of us.” Tim grinned playfully. “I know the truth. That’s all that matters to me.”

Hesitant though he was, Dan couldn’t help but let himself relax just a little, seeing that grin, hearing that confidence.

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

“Not _just_ to make you feel better. I do want you to feel better, but I do mean it.”

The awful tangle that had settled in at the bottom of his rib cage had started to come loose, and Dan felt the strong compulsion to lean over and wrap his arms rather securely around his friend. Not the most comfortable hug, as he was rather bony, but after a soft sound of surprise, the gesture was returned. Comfortable it might not have been, but it was warm, and he couldn’t help but squeeze just a little bit tighter as that warmth set in.

“… Thank you, Tim.”

When they finally separated, after what felt like an awfully long, though not unwelcome, length of time, the pair of them looked a lot better for it.

“Any time, Sir-- Dan.”

Dan chuckled a little at that. Maybe it would take a bit of getting used to, for both of them… but heading back out now was a little less frightening a prospect, and Gallowmere felt a lot less lonely a place to be.


End file.
